"No argument!"
"But listen here, for the love o' Mike! I ain't no old woman! I can stand the gaff! I'm goin' with the gang!"
"You hear the orders!" McKay snapped, with assumed severity. "Think we want to be bothered with having you go sick again? You're out of shape and we've no room for lame ducks. You'll stay here!"
Tim tried another tack.
"Aw, but listen! Ye ain't goin' to desert a comrade amongst a lot o' man eaters—right in the place where I got sick, too. Soon's I git away from here I'll be all right—"
"That stuff's no good," the captain contradicted, with a tight smile. "You didn't get fever here. It's been in your system for days. You got it back on the river. These people don't have it, or any other kind of sickness. I've looked around and I know. As for the man eaters, they're mighty decent folks toward friends. We're friends. You'll be under the personal protection of Monitaya, and his word is good as gold. It's all arranged, and you're safer here than you would be in New York."
In his heart the stubborn veteran knew McKay was right, but, like any other good soldier ordered to remain out of action, he grumbled and growled regardless. To which the ex-officers paid about as much attention as officers usually do. They went ahead with their own preparations.
"Be of good heart, Senhor Tim," Pedro comforted, mischievously. "You will not lack for company. The chief has appointed two girls to wait upon you at all times."
"Huh? Them two tall ones that's been hangin' round and fetchin' things? Are they mine?"
"Yes. They are quite handsome in their way, and strong enough to help you about if your legs remain weak. In that case you will probably be allowed to put your arms around them for support. I almost wish I could get fever, too."